


doctor

by illycrium



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Fluff, M/M, happyverse, joxter ocs, random snufkin death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illycrium/pseuds/illycrium
Summary: fanfic for dopeo_percepto and sp00py's happyverse fic. lazy joxter comes upon a new joxter.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Happyverse





	doctor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Snufkin Refuge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073352) by [Doceo_Percepto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto). 



With the escape of a snufkin comes the expected caterwauling that they usually make in times of stress. Shrill and desperate, followed by thudding through the underbrush and the slap of bare feet against dewy grass. And soon after, a crunching and crashing as the Joxter takes chase. Knocking down saplings and branches and batting aside bushes in his far-too frequent quest to reclaim both patient and patience. 

He’s howling all the while, a terrible din once added to the screeching of the snufkin. All in all, it’s an unpleasant racket. The snufkin’s screams grow in pitch as the joxter draws nearer and nearer, and adrenaline surges him onward.

Snufkin doesnt know how long he’s been running. How long he’ll have to run. It seems like a lifetime that his feet carry him, pricking on stones and twigs. The grass grows greener, eventually. Something sweet tickles his nose, and he veers off the path he had set for himself. He stops screaming when he can taste pennies in the back of his throat. 

The scent grows, lodging deep in his nose and he hopes that the cloyingly sweet smell will disguise his own snufkinish odor. 

He thinks he’s far from his captor, the Doctor. The forest looks different, anyhow. Bright and green and beautiful. Between the drooping fingers of a willow, his eyes catch the glimmer of sun dancing across water, and he ambles towards it blindly. He wants to sit and catch his breath and take stock of the numerous injuries he’s sporting--and plainly ignore the fact that his right paw is simply no longer where it ought to be. It’s tied by the wrist to a cord around his neck for safe-keeping, the charred stump and paw pads rubbing against his skin every step he takes and smearing a myriad of liquids across his chest. 

For a moment, Snufkin is sure he has escaped. Or dead. Either way, he has found a beautiful place, and the little white flowers fill his heart with a spark he had forgotten he had. He smiles weakly, takes a step towards the pond--

Crunch

The grass is wet and red, and so are the metal teeth hooked around his ankle. Someone is making awful sounds--gasping and choking and then letting out a hoarse scream like an animal dying. 

It’s him, he realizes, when the black clears from his vision and he watches himself claw at the hooks digging into his leg.

“You stupid--” a forceful punch knocks him flat onto his back, leg twisted around the trap ensnaring his splintering ankle. Joxter drops down to straddle his belly, and Snufkin catches a glimpse of cold blue eyes and a wrinkled mouth twisted in fury.

The handsaw--he had held onto it this whole time?-- falls to the ground beside Snufkin’s head, and the boy jerks and squirms when he realizes the Joxter is going to beat him bloody. He raises his stump and his paw to protect himself, but they do little to fend off the older Mumrik’s fists as they pound into his face. 

His nose crunches and metal drips into the back of his throat, so he chokes and cries. The sound only serves to further infuriate the Doctor, who digs his nails into Snufkin’s burnt stump. Fingers push and push, splitting open charred meat and burying themselves into the muscle below. Snufkin shrieks. 

“You’re going to die now,” he’s saying, his words a guttural growl that Snufkin can barely hear over his own wailing. “You see what you did? Infection or filth now, you dirty monster, you interrupted me.”

“‘M sorry--” snik and a knife jams itself in between his teeth, catching between two top and lower teeth and digging into the gums. He makes another ugly noise. 

Joxter is inconsolably angry. He’s ruining the incision he had made prior to Snufkin’s escape in favor of tearing it open with brute force. Just below the collarbone, skin pulling open and over muscles. Joxter watches his diaphragm jump as he rips his flesh open, a staccato sort of rhythm that bucks up a few time signatures when he reveals another knife and begins to hack away at the muscles keeping his ribs and organs safe and neatly tucked away.

“I could have done this nicely,” The Doctor tells Snufkin’s vivisected torso, and slaps away the paw clawing at his wrists, which are soon buried in a rope of intestines. 

They’re hot and pulsing around his hands, and he pulls them free from the Snufkin’s abdominal cavity like he’s performing a magic trick with a long line of colored handkerchiefs. It’s a mess, he’ll have to wash his hands again. 

Snufkin makes a rattling sort of noise and grabs a handful of spilt intestines, weakly dragging it back to his body. He tries to stuff it back over Joxter’s digging hands, and stops to spasm when a knife carves along his lungs and then further and further until rage-fueled arms rip and crack open ribs and expose him further. 

By the time the Joxter realizes he’d been screaming obscenities, the Snufkin has stopped moving, and he realizes he has an audience. 

Knelt in the viscera of a dead Snufkin, his cock hard and hot in his trousers, he slowly turns his head and meets the gaze of another Joxter. His pants are similarly tented, and he looks… 

Just as excited as he is. 

The smaller Joxter, the newcomer, scurries forward when the Snufkin’s killer stands, and they catch each other with eager chittering and low purring, smearing blood across previously clean skin and clothing. They tumble to the blood-soaked grass and dirt, rucking up overcoats to taste the Snufkin’s blood like eager hounds. This stranger is leaner, lithe like most Joxters, and he jerks his hips up into the Doctor’s paws when they move to unbutton his pants and pull them down to his knees. 

They’re both grasping and making noises--the stranger a chittering and soft moans, the Doctor a long, low purring that rumbles through his new companion, and a series of satisfied growls when the new Joxter doesn’t hesitate to open his legs and let the Doctor’s head dip down between them.

He does jump a little, however, when a tongue unexpectedly brushes his opening. It presses firmer, then pushes inside, and he gasps and knots his fingers into the Doctor’s graying hair, rolling his hips to chase after the sensation.

And then suddenly he’s rolled over, a paw pressing between his shoulderblades briefly. But there’s another paw between his thighs, something hard and dripping touching his leg, and he doesn’t squirm too much with the given attention. 

The Doctor turns, and dips his hands into the Snufkin’s open chest cavity. They come out sopping wet, and he brings the bloodied digits back to the Joxter’s rear. He realizes it’s lube, and he rolls with the sensation and allows it. When the Doctor immediately jams a digit against his prostate, he’s gasping and pushing back into the Doctor’s paws, greedy for more. 

It’s slick and hot and smells like blood when it replaces his fingers. It slips past his sphincter and sinks right up into his guts. The larger Joxter settles down against the stranger, purring hard enough to vibrate the paler Mumrik, and presses flush to his back. He’s very hairy for a Joxter, the stranger idly thinks. 

Both Joxters fall apart quickly, rutting like cats in heat, paws scoring the ground and kicking up dirt. It’s a surprisingly noisy affair, as the stranger had never had a cock pound directly into his prostate before. It’s a nice feeling, he decides once his head returns to him, and the hairy Joxter lifts his hips and pulls his shaft free. Cum and blood leak after him, pooling down into the grass. They’re both glad it’s the SNufkin’s and not theirs.

“Hullo,” the smaller Joxter says to the hairy Joxter, crawling with him a few feet away from the wet spot on the ground. They’re both returning to a more Joxter-ish state of normalcy, sleepy in their sated bliss. They have both remembered their manners, and realized they have not been introduced.

“Hullo.” The hairy Joxter says back, and his many whiskers twitch as he yawns and curls upon the ground. The smaller Mumrik slips in between his arms, and they purr for a moment. Introductions must be cut short, it seems. Neither have the energy for little more than a hello and a moment to purr. 

Tangled up and filthy, the two Joxters rub whiskers together, and then fall asleep.


End file.
